


By The Hearth

by SongbirdEverdeen



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Game of Thrones Fix-It, My First Work in This Fandom, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Episode: s08e03 The Long Night, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-01-24 00:14:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21329038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SongbirdEverdeen/pseuds/SongbirdEverdeen
Summary: Gendry and Arya share sweet moments directly after the death of the Night King. When Jon discovers them, how will he cope?
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Comments: 83
Kudos: 406





	1. Interruption

**Author's Note:**

> This was an idea in my head for a while, and I had written a small section of it when the wonderful world of Tumblr brought it back to the forefront of my mind. I haven't written anything in years and I felt like the world needed some more Gendrya fluff. I have already written more but this was meant to be a one-shot, so don't be surprised if it doesn't eventuate!

The great hall at Winterfell was alive with the busy hum of those who had survived The Long Night. Jon made his way through, awed by the seemingly endless amount of injured and unharmed alike. War makes monsters of us all, he had been told, but there was nothing quite like the moments that followed a battle to bring out the very best of human nature. Everywhere he looked, his people were helping those who needed it most, families and friends embraced. Yes, there were tears for those they had lost, but overwhelmingly the atmosphere was that of a collective sigh of relief. They had survived, against all the odds. 

Sansa took his arm silently, and he pressed a kiss to her hair. She had shown a kind of bravery he hadn’t known she could possess, but then he had been underestimating his sisters far too much of late. Jon thought of Arya, of how he had found her in the Godswood clinging to Bran with her head resting in his lap. She had been the one to end this horror, the one to save them all. He could hardly believe his eyes when he arrived and saw her dagger discarded on the snowy, blood-soaked ground, surrounded by the fallen. She was sobbing quietly, Bran gently resting his hand in her hair. It was odd to see him affectionate even in the slightest but he did still wear that blank expression that was now considered normal for him. 

“It’s over,” he stated flatly, “she finished it.” 

At this, Arya shifted and searched for whomever Bran had been talking to. At the sight of Jon she took a shuddering breath, her bottom lip trembling. She was searching for words, but when nothing came she gave a huff and turned to sit against Bran’s chair, pulling her knees to her chest and running a shaking hand over her face. 

“Arya,” Jon breathed, hesitating to go to her. She seemed like a wounded animal, unapproachable and fearful. “Arya,” he repeated, his voice cracking, “it’s alright, it’s okay.” 

“It’s not,” she croaked, her voice raw. He wondered if she had been screaming or if it were a result of an injury. “We lost Theon.” 

Jon shut his eyes, pain ripping through his heart. Theon, whom he had never really liked, who had committed unspeakable atrocities against his family, who had saved Sansa from the horror of Ramsay Bolton and who had done everything he could to make up for his shortcomings including offering to shield Bran, was gone. He had always been family, even when he was at his worst. But now was not the time to lose oneself to grief. 

“He knew what the risks were,” Jon countered, coming off a little colder than intended. Arya winced and shook her head. 

“He was a good man,” Bran offered. 

“He’s gone,” Arya whimpered, “Beric, too.” 

Jon frowned, and moved towards his sister. Snow crunched beneath his feet, deafeningly loud in the stunning silence of the Godswood. He slid to the ground beside her, and she fell into his arms. 

“We have lost so much,” Jon whispered into her hair, wrapping his arms around her, “but we are here. Those who survived have only done so with thanks to you.” 

“All I did was stab yet another monster,” she mumbled, voice still scratchy and strained. Jon let out a soft laugh, pulling back to look at her. Blood streaked her face, some hair matted to what looked like an injury serious enough to require attention.

“Well then I suppose I’ll take the credit, shall I?” he mused. “I did tell you to stick em with the pointy end.” 

“How can you joke right now?” 

“What would you like me to do, little sister? Weep?” 

Arya sniffled, burying her head into his shoulder. At that moment, the sound of rapid footfall broke the silence and all three of their heads whipped in the direction of the noise. Arya leapt into action, grabbing at her dagger and readying herself just as Davos came staggering into view. Another shuddering breath left Arya’s lungs and she sheathed her weapon. 

“Thank the gods,” Davos sighed, “what a welcome sight this is.” 

Arya could hardly agree. They were surrounded by death and blood. 

“Davos,” Jon beamed, standing. “You made it.” 

“I don’t quite know how I keep managing to do it, but yes. I did. And it seems your family is still whole.” 

“You’ve seen Sansa, then?” 

“I have. Shaken, but unhurt.” 

“We should go,” Bran interrupted. “They’ll need your help, Jon.” 

Making their way back to the castle grounds with Davos pushing Bran, Jon couldn’t tear his eyes away from Arya. She was skittish, her head darting around and he couldn’t place if she was looking for threats or looking for familiar faces. He stopped her, cupping the back of her head. She looked up at him, eyes wide and breathing rapid. 

“You don’t have to be here, you know.” 

“I want to see Sansa,” she answered. “I need to see her for myself, and she needs to know about Theon.” 

“I can tell her if it’s too much, Arya.” 

“It should be me. I didn’t get there quick enough. It’s my fault,” she explained, her voice cracking even more. Jon pulled her into an embrace, tears springing to his eyes. She blamed herself, of course. She had always kept the world on her shoulders, always felt she couldn’t live up to what was expected of her.

“You are being far too hard on yourself, considering you just saved the entire realm from a horrific fate.” 

Arya pulled back and opened her mouth to answer, but just then she spotted a shock of red hair flying in their direction. Sansa had found them. Instantly, the four of them were wrapped around each other. 

“The pack survives,” Bran stated after a time.

Sansa smiled, wiping her cheeks. 

“The pack survives,” she replied. 

They were separated now with Bran having been taken to his chambers to rest, and Arya ducking out of sight at some point. It had given Jon relief when she disappeared - it was the most normal thing she had done since he’d found her. Sansa remained close, offering help to anyone she could and taking command of arrangements as easily as ever. He took his leave, meaning to find Arya and make sure she too got some much needed rest. 

Jon wove his way through the castle, barely giving anyone a second glance. He had already seen those most important to him, including his Queen, and there would be plenty of time to share stories in the days to come. Right now, he needed to take care of his sister. 

With each passing moment, Jon’s frown grew deeper. Where was she? Perhaps hiding somewhere, distressed and beating herself up for imagined slights against her loved ones. He wouldn’t be surprised. He drew in a deep breath, letting it out with a slight groan, and decided to check where he often used to find her as a girl. 

In their years before leaving Winterfell, Arya was known for slipping away. She snuck off to play with lowborn children, to speak with staff and pick flowers, and to harass anyone she could with endless questions. She also took every opportunity to train with Bran’s oft-forgotten bow. 

He marched now towards the training yard, determined and convinced that he would find her there, shooting arrow after arrow to settle her racing mind. And find her there, he did. 

Jon stopped dead in his tracks, stunned at the sight before him. There was Arya, her breathing soft and steady. She was peaceful, and wrapped in a pair of strong arms. 

Gendry was laid against a pile of grain sacks, in equally peaceful slumber. His arms were slung protectively around Arya, one snaked around her middle and the other holding her head to his chest. Arya was clutching the back of his neck with her other hand pressed against where his heart would be. With their legs entangled, it was far too intimate a position for the friends she swore they were. This was a lover’s embrace. 

Jon thought back to the conversation he and his sister had not just three days ago about the man she was currently clinging to. 

“You seem familiar with my smith,” he had commented, having seen her sharing a meal she had clearly stolen from the kitchen for them earlier in the day. She reached over to take a chunk of cheese from his plate, a gesture that left him utterly unphased as though she had done it a million times before. In fact, he ripped off a chunk of his own bread and passed it to her to have with it before reaching over himself and draining her cup of ale. 

“He’s not  _ your _ smith. He’s  _ my  _ friend,” she drawled with a roll of her eyes. “I’ve known him for years,” she added.

“How?” Jon queried, confused as to why neither one had mentioned this to him earlier. 

“He was bound for The Wall. Yoren the recruiter was a friend of Father’s. He found me at the Sept of Baelor that day,” she explained, not needing to detail exactly which day she was talking about. “He shielded me, dragged me away, cut my hair off, posed me as a boy and took me with them. He was planning on bringing me here but he died.” 

“And Gendry was with you?” 

“From the very first moment,” she nodded. “Two boys were trying to take Needle away from me and he frightened them off. The Gold Cloaks were after both of us so we stuck together.” 

“What happened after Yoren died?” 

Arya snorted, shaking her head in disgust. “They took us to Harrenhal.” 

Jon shivered. He knew exactly the kinds of horror that went on at Harrenhal, and his baby sister had been there. 

“Seven hells, Arya.” 

“Well I got us out, eventually,” she shrugged, much too casual about it. Jon knew it was a mask that she had become all too good at wearing. “But then we were taken by the Brotherhood. We were with them for quite some time, until they sold Gendry to the Red Witch and I fled.” 

Jon blinked, not really believing what he was hearing. No one, not one of them had thought to mention that they knew of Arya. 

“Anyway as I said, he’s my friend.” 

“ _ Just _ your friend?” he prompted, unable to fully look her in the eye. 

“ _ Yes _ , Jon.” 

Well they certainly didn’t look like friends now. No, the way Gendry had his lips to her forehead suggested that this was much more. He had been in this position himself, entangled with Ygritte on more than one occasion. Jon couldn’t bring himself to be angry about it, though he thought he probably should be. After all, she was just a child! Wasn’t she? 

“There you are, little crow!” boomed Tormund, clapping him on the shoulder. “I heard it was one of yours who ended it,” he grinned. After a beat, he followed Jon’s line of sight and chuckled at the scene. “Are you going to kill him, pretty man?” he half-joked.

“I think I’d be a dead man myself if I tried.” 

Tormund nodded, another chuckle rumbling in his chest. “Yes,” he agreed, “you would. She’s a fierce one. Can’t fault the man’s choice. I would-“ 

“Tormund,” Jon warned, not wanting to hear the rest. 

“He’s a good man,” Tormund assured him. “And a damn good fighter. You should’ve seen him!” 

No doubt due to Tormund’s loud enthusiasm, the pair started to stir. As Arya shifted, Gendry pulled her closer, clearly not ready to let her go. Arya’s lips curled upwards and she tilted her face up towards his to press a soft peck to his jaw. Neither of them opened their eyes, preferring to stay exactly as they were, completely oblivious to their audience. Jon almost felt like an intruder, but stayed rooted to the ground unable to leave. 

“Arya,” he called softly. Her eyes flew open and both her and Gendry startled, tangling themselves into a heap of limbs as they both tried to stand at the same time. Tormund’s raucous laughter echoed across the training grounds as the previously serene couple grumbled at each other through their extrication until finally they both sat facing Jon, who by now wore a look of amused exasperation.    
  


“It’s not what it looks like,” Gendry spluttered, eyes wide and fearful. Arya shot him a look. 

“We were  _ sleeping _ so it’s  _ exactly _ what it looks like, stupid,” she snapped.

“Only sleeping, I swear-” 

“Shut up, Gendry!”

“Look, I-” 

“ _ Shut. Up. _ ” 

Jon raised his eyebrows. There was absolutely no denying that they had known each other for years, and for the first time since his return to Winterfell he saw his sister again rather than the cold, unfamiliar woman he had come to know. If it took Gendry to draw that out of her, how could he begrudge him? 

“I wanted to find you and tell you to get some rest, and here you were… resting,” Jon explained, finally making his way toward them. Gendry stood first, offering a hand to Arya that was instantly smacked away. He gazed down at her, breathing a soft laugh, eyes full of adoration. He was in love with her, that much was clear. Arya, on the other hand… 

“Yes well now that you’ve interrupted my rest are you going to ask me to rest some more?” she quipped, obviously annoyed by the intrusion.    
  
“I’m happy for you,” Jon said softly, trying to be reassuring. Her expression softened, and she looked down at her boots, shuffling her feet awkwardly. She almost appeared to be the child he had left all those years ago. She had never held secrets from him before, but they had all changed and Arya seemed to be shrouded in secrets now. She wore them like a warm hooded cloak, like they protected her. But she needn’t be protected from Jon - not ever. 

“Your Grace,” Gendry started. Jon didn’t bother to correct him. “I would never do anything to hurt or disrespect Arya. I consider both of you like family.” Arya scoffed at this, though Jon wasn’t sure why. 

“Why are you telling him that?” she asked, throwing him a look. “Do you think you need his permission to sleep next to me? Because if you do you have a lot of apologising to do for all those years on the road.” 

“It’s not about that,” he argued. 

“What’s it about, then?”

“It’s about respecting His Grace-”

“He’s not a King anymore, he’s just my brother.”

“Lowborn bastards like me aren’t meant to be putting their arms around highborn ladies like you, Arry!” he cried, throwing his arms up in frustration. Arya rolled her eyes harder than Jon had ever seen, and he must’ve seen her do it thousands of times.    
  
“Are you  _ still _ harping on about that?” 

“About _ what _ ? My life? Society? The way things are?” 

“Why don’t we go inside and get out of the cold?” Jon suggested, attempting to break the tension. Truthfully, he wasn’t cold, he just wanted to stop the argument from escalating. The two of them must have had this conversation more than once, with Gendry feeling unworthy and Arya not understanding why he cared so much. As a bastard himself, Jon knew how it felt to be on the outside looking in. Knew how it felt to think nothing you could ever do would be good enough to make a difference in the eyes of the people, all because of circumstances beyond one’s control.    
  
As they made their way to the family quarters, Tormund veered off. He had spotted Brienne and with a toothy smile and a waggle of his eyebrows, he took his leave. They walked in silence, but Jon didn’t miss the way Gendry’s fingers twitched in Arya’s direction more than once. She stared ahead, but he was sure she had noticed too and was deliberately avoiding any sort of affectionate display - ironic, given the position in which he had found them.    
  
They sat around the hearth and it was then that he noticed the angry-looking marks around her wrist and neck. He grimaced, now understanding the rasp in her voice. She had been choked. 

“I’ll have someone look at you,” he offered.

“Its fine,” she murmured, warming her hands by the fire and not looking at the men either side of her. Jon sighed, standing and making his way out to find Sam in spite of her lacklustre protest. 

The fire crackled in front of Gendry and Arya, illuminating their faces in a strange glow. He studied her while she ignored him, poking idly at a log with the ornate fire iron she’d found in front of her. Gone was the woman whose soft moans had filled his ears just hours before. He had held onto some hope when he’d found her in the training yard and relief washed over her blood-stained face. She had leapt into his arms with sobs shaking her small frame. Caught unaware, Gendry had stumbled and they hit the ground hard. They hadn’t needed to speak a single word to each other, rearranging themselves and holding one another close. Arya had looked up at him, chin resting on his chest, with tears trickling from haunted grey eyes. He cupped her jaw and wiped an errant droplet from her cheek as she placed her soft hand over his heart, swallowing hard and squeezing her eyes shut. 

“Still beating,” he had whispered. She responded only by replacing her hand with her ear. They each wove their way around the other’s body then, saying nothing at all, but also everything at once as they drifted into slumber.

Now that they’d been interrupted her walls were back up and her mask was back on. He shouldn’t be surprised, really. He had been an itch to scratch, she said as much before it had happened. 

“Are you injured?” 

Arya’s voice tore him from his thoughts, and finally she turned toward him. He looked into the eyes of the only person who had never betrayed him, the only person who had ever truly claimed him and he shook his head. He was fine, he was perfect so long as he had her. 

“Nothing that can’t wait,” he elaborated. He had taken a knife to the leg, but he could walk and it wasn’t bleeding much. Arya nodded and trained her eyes on the fire once more. Gendry took in his surroundings. He hadn’t been in such an elaborate room full of tapestries and luxurious furniture, not since - 

“I saw the Red Woman.” She poked the fire, reading his mind. Gendry searched her face for some sort of emotion but found nothing. 

“Did she hurt you?” he asked, eyeing her throat and swearing to every god there might have been that he would end her himself if she had. 

“She reminded me of what I needed to do. I should’ve killed her. Would’ve been one less name on my list.” 

“She wasn’t on your list,” Gendry reminded her. He knew the damn thing so well he could say it backwards. Arya turned and cocked an eyebrow at him. 

“My list grew by three when you were taken from me.” 

At that, Gendry felt his heart swell in a way that shouldn’t ever be connected to a kill list. Knowing that she had cared enough to want to murder anyone who wronged him just reinforced his already irrevocable feelings for her. He was gone - a doomed man destined to pine for a bloodthirsty assassin all the rest of his life. He’d follow her anywhere and everywhere, even into certain death. Suddenly the thought of meaning nothing to her was unbearable, and also unbelievable. Where was the lie? Was it in her request - no, demand - to find out what sex was? Or was it in the affection, care and consideration she had shown him both before and after that? He had to know. 

“Do you regret it?” he asked so softly he wasn’t sure if she would hear. She didn’t look up, though her brow furrowed and she took her lip between her teeth. 

“Do  _ you _ ?” she deflected, either unwilling or unable to answer him. 

Gendry gaped at Arya, unsure of what to say. He wanted terribly to pull her to him, to mold himself to her and breathe every thought that was churning in his mind into her soul.  _ I love you. I could never regret you. You have ignited in me feelings I didn’t even know existed. You are terrifying and utterly enchanting. You are the reason for every breath I take. You have shown me what friendship and family truly is. I want to bottle the time we spent exploring each other before the battle so I can keep it with me forever. I want to touch you and love you like that every minute of every day until my heart stops beating. I want to see you round with my child one day. I will walk away if you command me to. I don’t deserve you. I was never and will never be good enough for Arya Stark.  _ He wanted her to know all of that, but instead he stayed mute and he hated himself for being such a damned coward. 

“I don’t regret it,” she confirmed. A weight lifted off his shoulders and he let out a breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding in. “I know I thought we were going to die, but I don’t want to take it back. And I wouldn’t have wanted it with anyone else.”

“I couldn’t give it back even if you asked. That’s not how it works,” he teased, causing her to meet his eye again. 

“I’m sorry if I forced you.”

“You didn’t force me, Arya. I don’t, and I won’t ever regret it… even if they geld me for dishonouring you.”

She scooted over to him then and he tugged at her gently until their foreheads were pressed together. He drank in their closeness, his eyes fluttering shut. He couldn’t help the smile that blossomed on his face when he felt Arya tracing his jaw and he threaded his fingers through hers before bestowing a kiss upon her palm. The castle melted away and all that was left was the fire, and her. Nothing else existed as she climbed into his lap with no trace of desire aside from the want to be near him and he was more than happy to let her. It didn’t take much for his large frame to completely engulf her as she peppered his chest and shoulders with her sweet kisses. 

“I love you,” he confessed, languidly tracing patterns on her back. When she didn’t stiffen or pull away he took it as a victory regardless of her silence. “I might be mad. You call me stupid all the time, maybe you’re right. I know my place and I know loving you and wanting to spend my entire life with you is laughable, but I do. I love you and I want to be yours, always.” He felt her smile against him and threaded his fingers through her tangled hair. For a while they stayed just like that with nothing but the occasional crackle and pop from the warm hearth. 

Arya was lost for words. Never in her life had she thought herself desirable, or deserving of anyone’s love. She had been shown time and time again that she just a thing to be used, something to be looked at and paraded around and then made into a broodmare by whichever poor sap was stuck with a pathetic excuse of a lady like her. She had rejected the idea of it all - being a lady, being a wife and mother - because it was drummed into her that she was no good, and would never be any good at that life. Yet here she was, in the arms of a man who had only ever known her exactly as she is, and he wanted to be hers. She couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to leave all of this madness behind and escape somewhere far away with him by her side. But she had a list to finish first. Before she lived a new life, she had to chase death and seek revenge and justice in her current life. Only then could she be truly free to love Gendry as he deserved to be loved. Without a shred of doubt, he deserved someone whole who could show him what it really meant to be alive. Gendry had no family to speak of and everyone who he’d known or grown close to had used him. He had been bought and sold and passed around like a plaything his entire life and she wanted to badly to be what he needed, what he thought he wanted with her… but she couldn’t do it - not yet. 

She tightened her arms around him and shifted so that her legs were wrapped around his middle. A contented hum rumbled against her and she buried her face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. He had always smelled of smoke, but tonight was different. The scent of death lingered all around them and had soaked into his leathers and yet she still inhaled deeply. He was here, and she was here and godsdammit, they were  _ alive _ after everything they’d been through since that day in Kings Landing. He softly trailed his fingers down her sides, allowing her to remain mute, always understanding her needs even after so many years apart. How could she tell him that she would be his, but that she first needed to murder her way through a childish list borne out of hatred and a thirst for justice? Would he still want her knowing how monstrous she was?  _ Of course he will _ , she thought.  _ He already knows what you did to The Freys _ . He would let her go, she realised. Or he would try to come with her and risk his own life just to be by her side as she went along doing whatever she needed to do for her own sanity. This was  _ Gendry _ and he would never reject her - he was different to everyone else who had made her feel so small. What could she do to prove to him that he was pack? To prove that they would always belong to one another, even if she needed to disappear for a while?

“Father,” she eventually uttered, causing him to frown. Before he could ask what she meant she spoke again, and what she said took his breath away. “Smith. Warrior. Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger.” He knew those words, knew what they meant. He drew back, his eyes darting between her own, searching for the joke. This couldn’t possibly be real. “I am yours and you are mine. From this day, until the end of my days,” she finished, her steady gaze never faltering. He swallowed, unable to pull himself together. Of course it wasn’t  _ really real _ , it meant nothing in the eyes of gods and men alike, but she had spoken those words to him knowing what they stood for. She was giving him all of her, this warrior woman who saved the world wanted to belong to him and by gods he would take her and love her and give her all the stars in the sky. “You’re supposed to kiss me,” she quirked, feigning annoyance. 

He wasted no time, taking her battered face carefully in his hands and covering her mouth with his. “I love you,” he breathed as he pulled away. “I love you,” he said again and again, unable to keep the words from repeatedly spilling from his mouth between tender kisses. 

“I love you,” she told him. And it was by the hearth that night that she finally felt like Arya Stark again.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa discovers Arya and Gendry. How will she react?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my darlings! This is a shorter chapter, but the third is already being written and won't take nearly as long to update as this did. I didn't think it would go on this long, but the characters demand more so more you will all get!

It didn’t take long to find Sam scurrying about the great hall. Jon darted and ducked his way through the sea of people, hoping to catch him before he moved on from Podrick and Brienne. Before he could reach him, he heard his name being called from across the room. 

“Where have you been? We need to-“ 

“I was with Arya. I’ve come to get someone to look at her injuries,” Jon explained to Sansa, whose eyes softened. 

“I’ll come too,” she offered, taking his arm and finishing the walk with him. 

Sam was stuffing dressings back into his satchel when he looked up and spotted the pair. 

“Oh! Hello, Jon. My lady,” he greeted. “I was just-“ 

“Can you come with us? Arya is hurt,” Jon interrupted, not waiting for an answer before guiding them all back the way he’d come. Around them, the atmosphere had calmed a little since he had been there last and at last he felt like even though there would be much work to do, they would be able to pull through this with relative ease. 

“How bad is it?” Sam asked as they made their way down the hall. Their footsteps echoed off the stone walls, creating a soft, percussive rhythm. 

“Not bad,” Jon admitted. “She’s hit her head and she appears to have been held by her throat.” 

Sam nodded his understanding, adjusting his satchel and picking up his pace slightly. If Arya had lost a lot of blood from a head wound, it wouldn’t be easy to bring her back to health and he would need to make sure she didn’t show any signs of other complications.   
  
Rounding the final corner, Jon took the lead and pushed the door open for Sansa. When the two men followed her through, they didn’t get far as Sansa had stilled and was staring slack-jawed in the direction of the fire.    
  
Arya and Gendry were lip-locked and lost to anything else around them. She was still woven around him with one hand splayed against his chest and the other grasping the back of his neck. Gendry was caressing her sides, his thumbs tracing circles against the exposed skin where her tunic had ridden up. Whatever coldness Arya had shown the smith before was long gone now. Jon dropped his eyes to the floor, not wanting to witness the display. Sam shuffled awkwardly, hitching his satchel up and looking to Jon for direction, but it was Sansa who spoke up. 

“Who is that?” she asked no one in particular. Her eyes were trained on Gendry, narrowed slightly, her chin jutting just enough to give an air of intimidation. The lovers parted, Arya being unceremoniously dropped to the ground in his haste to stand and bow to the Lady of Winterfell. 

“Uhm - name’s Gendry, milady,” he spluttered, swallowing hard. 

“Oh no I’m fine, thanks,” Arya grumbled, getting to her feet as well. Gendry whipped his head around in her direction, suddenly realising what he’d done. 

“I’m so sorry,” he breathed sincerely. She rolled her eyes fondly, leaning against him. Her hand slipped into his and her thumb brushed against it when she felt him stiffen. He only relaxed marginally. 

“Gendry is one of our smiths,” she explained to her sister, completely unrattled. “And an old friend of mine,” she went on. 

“Funny behaviour to engage in with a friend,” Sansa replied, tilting her head to the side in mock-curiosity. 

“And do you have many friends, sister?” Arya quipped, mimicking her tone and actions.

“Don’t start,” Jon admonished. “You two were so happy to see one another just moments ago.” 

“I’m perfectly happy to see Sansa now, but she doesn’t seem happy to see Gendry.” 

“I think I should go,” Gendry suggested, trying to pull away. Arya tightened her grip, looking up at him with pleading eyes. “Arya…” he sighed. He didn’t want to be the cause of any sort of family problems, but she was stubborn and demanding and he would never be able to walk away from her if she wanted him to stay - he’d made that mistake once before and vowed never to repeat it. 

“ _ Lady _ Arya,” Sansa corrected. 

“Not to him,” Arya jumped in. The sisters had a stand-off of sorts, the air turning icy although the fire was roaring. 

“H-how about I take a look at that cut on your head, my lady?” Sam asked, stepping between them and leading Arya to a chair. Sansa brushed past Gendry and took a seat next to her sister, Jon patting his shoulder reassuringly as he did the same. Feeling completely out of place, he went to make his way out of the room but of course as soon as his back was to her, Arya called out to him. 

“Where are you going?” 

“You should be with your family.”

“You  _ are _ my family, stupid.” 

Emboldened by her words, Gendry moved to stand behind his warrior woman and placed a hand on her shoulder. Sansa watched closely as her sister subconsciously reached up and began toying with the blacksmith’s fingers. He smiled down at her tenderly as Sam cleaned and treated her wound, wincing whenever she did. When Sansa looked away, Jon caught her eye and sent her an amused look. She softened a little, taking note that Jon didn’t seem at all bothered by their sister’s companion. 

“How do you know each other?” she asked as Sam began to examine the marks on her neck and wrist. Arya’s head was tilted backwards, but she looked in Sansa’s direction without moving. 

“We travelled together for a while. After father,” she answered. Sansa looked to the man who was currently stroking Arya’s hair. He seemed gentle, she thought, a comfort given the calibre of men she’d had personal experience with. 

“You arrived to Winterfell on your own,” Sansa pointed out. 

“We were separated. Then I travelled with The Hound. Then I went to Braavos.” 

“And where did you go?”

Gendry was taken aback, not expecting to be addressed directly. He always knew that his social standing would present problems for him. He was a bastard, and as lowborn as they come. He had no business standing in a castle in the presence of Maesters and Lords and Ladies. Even if Arya herself didn’t care, others would. He would have to face a barrage of insult and ignorance for the rest of his life if she chose to stand by him, and she had made it clear she intended to. 

“I went back to Kings Landing, my lady, after Dragonstone.” 

“You fought for Stannis Baratheon.” It wasn’t a question, but he felt compelled to answer and set the record straight. 

“I didn’t fight for him - he wanted me dead,” he told her, not bothering to remember to address her formally. The red-headed beauty fixed him with a searching stare, no doubt trying to detect any hint of a lie. He held her eyes, not backing down, and he could practically feel Arya’s satisfied smirk when Sansa was the first to break and look away. 

“Was it one of the dead who did this?” Sam asked, fingering the strange bruise on her wrist. It was cold to the touch. Arya shook her head. 

“Night King,” she explained. “He caught me by the throat and held onto my wrist, but I dropped my blade into the other hand and stuck him with it.” 

The group could barely believe what they were hearing, all of them wearing shocked expressions. “What?” Arya asked, frowning at them. They’d known she was the one who killed him, why was this coming as a surprise? 

“You could have died!” Exclaimed Sansa. 

“Well I didn’t,” Arya shrugged. “Will it stop being cold soon?” she asked Sam, who gave a bewildered shake of his head. 

“I don’t know, my lady,” he admitted with a sigh. “The Night King has magic that no one alive could possibly understand.” 

“What about Bran?” Jon asked, making himself comfortable in one of the large armchairs close by. Sam shook his head again. 

“Perhaps,” he said, though his tone indicated that it was doubtful. 

“Will she have scarring?” Sansa asked, eliciting an eye-roll from Arya, who couldn’t really care less about bearing those marks. Once again, Sam made a noncommittal gesture. 

“I feel fine, can we drop this and leave Sam alone? He’s already said he doesn’t know what kind of magic did this,” Arya huffed, shifting in the chair and stretching her aching muscles. She was suddenly exhausted, and the only thing she wanted to do was retire to her chambers with a certain bullheaded blacksmith. As though he had read her mind, Gendry crouched down beside her and cupped her cheek. 

“You need to rest, Arry,” he murmured, his calloused thumb grazing against her bottom lip. “Can we get her to bed?” he asked Sam, who gave a nod. 

“Yes. She will need to be woken regularly to make sure the blow to her head didn’t do too much damage, but rest is exactly what she needs.” 

Gendry looked to Jon, who let out a deep breath and stood with a soft grunt. “I’ll have someone draw her a bath,” he said, heading out of the room. Sam packed his supplies and excused himself, leaving Sansa alone with the new couple.    
  
“Where did you say you were from?” she asked Gendry, who was now seated on the floor leaning against Arya’s legs. His eyes were shut but it was clear that he was still awake because one arm had snaked itself around the back of Arya’s calves and his fingers were idly dancing on her shin. He didn’t open them when he answered her. 

“I didn’t. I’m from Flea Bottom,” he told her. Sansa cut her eyes to her sister, who merely blinked in response. 

“And you’re a blacksmith?” 

“I am.” 

“And Stannis Baratheon wanted you dead? Why?”

At this, Arya stiffened. She knew Sansa wouldn’t like the answer, and knew that lying was not an option either. Nothing truly got by clever Lady Stark nowadays - she’d taken lessons from some of the most astute people in Westeros and was most definitely a force to be reckoned with if crossed. But Gendry didn’t care about any of that, stupid as he was, and he sat up straight, pulling his knees to his chest and fixing piercing blue with piercing blue. 

“Stannis Baratheon wanted me dead because Melisandre told him there is power in a King’s blood. First she used leeches to draw blood from me and Stannis threw them into a fire, reciting the names of those who opposed him King. Then she decided it would be wise to burn me alive as a sacrifice to further his cause.”

“And you have a King’s blood?” Sansa queried, her face cool and calculating. 

“I’m Robert Baratheon’s bastard.” 

At that, Sansa’s head reeled back as though she’d been slapped. Gaping, she frantically alternated her stare from his eyes, to Arya’s, to the floor and back again. Finally she managed to stammer “B-but Joffrey had them all executed. They’re all dead!” 

“Not this one,” Gendry grumbled. It wasn’t that he wasn’t grateful to be alive - given the strange, terrifying and simultaneously awe-inspiring turn of events in the last day or so he was actually never happier to have survived it all. It was the thought that his own half-brother wanted him dead that stoked his bitterness. He had never had any family, just his mother and he was only little when she had passed, leaving him alone in the world. It wasn’t until being sold to The Watch that he somehow found himself part of a ragtag bunch - a surrogate family of sorts - but he hadn’t ever allowed himself to open up completely to the idea. Then when he found out that he did in fact have living relatives, they all wanted him dead. What a sick twist of fate that was - he had the only thing he ever wished for but was still alone, and the one first person to offer him a true family he had rejected and subsequently lost for years. 

Arya shifted again, making a small noise of discomfort and Gendry hissed in sympathy, reaching up to take her hand. She frowned down at him, looking unimpressed by his fussing but he knew it was just a facade because she didn’t pull away. 

“Remember when Hot Pie was trying to convince us he knew about knights and armour?” she asked him, a smile playing at her lips. He wasn’t sure what had made her think of it, but he was definitely not complaining about the change of subject. 

“I was waiting for him to shit his pants when you brought me into it,” Gendry chuckled.

“He and Lommy were terrified of you,” Arya grinned. She slid off her chair and climbed into his lap, ignoring Sansa clicking her tongue in disapproval. Gendry bundled her up in his arms, pressing his nose into her hair and rubbing her back softly.

“Arya will you please at least  _ pretend _ to have some sense of decency?” 

The blacksmith tensed, craving for more of her touch and yet fearing she’d pull away. Arya sensed his discomfort and it egged her on, a mischievous glint sparking in her eyes as she nuzzled into him and pressed a feather-light kiss right under his ear. He smiled to himself - he should have known she would sooner stir the pot than anything else. 

“Arya!” Sansa cried incredulously. Arya turned and grinned wolfishly. “You’re awful!” she added, though she couldn’t hide a slight smile of her own. Seeing playfulness after all the horror they’d endured was something she couldn’t ignore and something she couldn’t feel entirely bad about. Gendry, on the other hand, poked Arya in her side and told her to stop, which only made her smile wider. For a moment, all three of them wore amused expressions and the weight in the air became considerably lighter. The tension in Sansa’s posture slowly melted away as she asked endless questions about Arya and Gendry’s time together and soon she was even on the floor with them, all of them warming their hands and chuckling about Hot Pie’s inability to stop babbling about whatever came into his head. 

When Jon reappeared he was warmed instantly by the scene and for a moment he allowed himself to simply watch. Gendry sat cross-legged with Arya tucked into his side. Her knees were pulled up to her chest and her head lay on his shoulder. Strong arms held her close to him and he had his cheek pressed to her dark, still-matted hair. Sansa sat beside Gendry with her legs tucked delicately to the side. Even on the floor she held an air of grace and elegance - always a lady. Jon was pleased to hear them all speaking in low, pleasant tones. It sounded comfortable. Perhaps this nightmare could end in new family being gained, after all. The more love and acceptance these cold grey stone walls saw, the better.

“Arya, Sansa, you each have baths waiting,” he called with only a little volume. He was met with grateful smiles as they all got to their feet and began making their way over. 

“I didn’t ask for one,” Sansa pointed out, one perfect eyebrow raised. 

“Well I thought you might like one. You’ve been doing an amazing job keeping things going out there, but you should rest. Retire, and you can continue tomorrow.” 

“Thank you, Jon,” Sansa smiled gratefully. She didn’t need to be told twice. She swept out of the room, eager to soak in the warmth of the tub. The stench of death was everywhere, it was true, but it didn’t need to be on her skin and clothing any longer. 

“What about you?” 

Jon cupped his baby sister’s cheek. “I’ll make sure to rest later,” he promised, pinching her slightly just like he used to years ago. Just like back then, she batted his hand away with a grumble and a deep frown. He chuckled at her, reaching up once more and yanking softly on her nose. 

“Don’t start something you won’t like to finish, Jon,” Arya warned, her eyes narrowing playfully. “Come on,” she urged, addressing Gendry this time. His eyes widened and immediately flushed. 

“I’ll have to see you tomorrow, Arya,” he replied, holding onto her elbow. 

“Don’t be stupid,” she dismissed, looping an arm through his. “We can take turns in the bath and then rest. I need someone in there with me anyway, remember?” 

“I was thinking more along the lines of a handmaiden, Arya,” Jon suggested. He was happy for her and Gendry but spending the night together in her chambers was something that wouldn’t go unnoticed and he didn’t want them to have to suffer from the fallout that might come from those still emotional after the events recently passed. 

“I don’t want a handmaiden, I want Gendry,” she stated matter-of-factly. It was in moments like this that it was obvious that she had grown up with wealth and privilege - a little lady of the North, all fire and bite and stubbornness. He felt a pang of sympathy for Gendry, who looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Jon couldn’t blame him but he guessed that when faced with a choice between the wrath of Arya and the wrath of the highborns he despised, the choice would be very clear. “Come on,” she repeated, tugging on him until he relented with an apologetic glance towards Jon who merely shook his head in defeat.  _ He is in serious trouble _ , Jon thought as he watched his sister practically dragging a man twice her size away to her room. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can follow me on tumblr @songbirdeverdeen


	3. A Waking Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gendry and Arya retire for the evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovelies! 
> 
> This chapter really got me good... I'm so sorry its taken so long! Please enjoy :)

Firelight danced on the walls from freshly lit candles and a small stone fireplace. It wasn’t as lush as many of the rooms in the castle, free of the tapestries and other adornments that were so common for a ladies chambers. It could have easily been a simple guest room if not for its size, but when looking closely enough one would find touches of Arya all around.    
  
The small table in the sitting area had a jug of ale rather than wine, and a set of daggers sat on the mantle. There were various tunics and cloaks hung in her dressing area and though there was a vanity and mirror, it was simple and unassuming. There were no fancy perfumes but there was a small metal box and next to it a wooden direwolf carved by hand. 

The only way to tell that this room belonged to a lady of a noble house was the large featherbed by the window. Beside it were two ornate tables with jugs of water and a large chest sat at the foot of the bed, books carelessly strewn on top of it.    
  
“Why are you just standing there like an idiot?” 

Gendry turned to find that Arya was already undressing by the large tub. Both of them looked equally inviting, one with its steam and the other with soft skin being exposed. He swallowed and looked away. 

“Are you coming or not?”    
  
_ Gods she is a pain! _

“Gendry.” 

“Arya.” He didn’t move or look in her direction. She needed to relax, wash and heal and if he joined her he didn’t completely trust himself - or her for that matter - to keep things from escalating. 

“Have it your way,” she sighed. He heard her lowering herself into the water and she exhaled with a slight hum that made him shiver. “No one will interrupt, if thats what you’re so worried about,” she said matter-of-factly. He sat in an armchair by the fire and poured himself a mug of ale. “Besides it’s not like we haven’t been naked together before.” 

“Yes I know that, thank you,” he bit. 

“Don’t you want to get clean?” she pushed. He could hear the water sloshing and he imagined that she was washing. He tried not to think about how it might be to do it for her. 

“You already said we can take turns,” he responded before downing the ale in one long draw.

“Gendry?”

“What, Arya?” he huffed, quickly becoming annoyed. He was trying to be good, to be decent and she was making it so difficult for him. He understood that there was no going back from what had happened before the battle, especially not now that their feelings for each other had been made clear, but he refused to cause her any sort of trouble or pain or difficulty. She had already been through so much, and he would be damned if he was the reason why she had to face any more heartache. 

“Please come join me.” 

There was a vulnerability in her voice that he’d heard only once before. Blinking away the memory of that day in Hollow Hill, he rose to his feet and made his way to stand behind her. Arya looked up at him, reaching back and taking his hand. “Hello,” she smiled. 

“Hello, milady,” he teased, knowing she would hate it. 

“Must you ruin my lovely bath?” she frowned, splashing him. The water beckoned to him with unidentifiable scents rising in gentle tufts of steam. 

“I don’t think we will both fit in here, Arya,” Gendry pondered, stepping out of his boots and shrugging out of his leathers. 

“I’m small, I’ll make it work,” she insisted. 

“It’ll overflow,” he argued, though he was down to his breeches with no real intention of stopping there. 

“Oh what a shame, water on the floor. How ever will we cope?” she drawled, her eyes shutting as she leaned her head back on the edge of the tub, satisfied that he was indeed going to join her. He chuckled softly as he stepped into the water and saw a wide grin spreading on her now-clean cheeks. He was right, the water overflowed as he lowered himself. Arya tucked into herself, making room as he settled in, before swiftly pressing her chest against his. She was fully in his lap, legs either side of his and her face buried into the crook of his neck. His arms fell easily around her, his hands bringing her in even closer. He hadn’t washed yet, but she didn’t seem to care. He could feel her smiling against his grimy skin and he let himself relax into their embrace. The water was heated enough that it prickled at his skin slightly but it wasn’t unpleasant at all - the cold had a horrible way of biting at him and it had been so long since he had felt real warmth. 

Neither of them spoke, nor did they move until Arya took a soft-looking rag and dipped it into the water. She began tending to the various cuts and bruises he had obtained during the battle. Whenever he would show any amount of discomfort she would press her lips to the offending spot, as though healing him with her kisses. “I love you,” she breathed when they were both finally clean, her face taking residence once more in the crook of his neck. 

“I love you,” he whispered in return, never wanting that moment to end. 

Eventually the water began to cool and when Arya felt Gendry tremble she climbed out of the tub and fetched them something to dry with. She dressed in silence, not taking notice that Gendry had stilled completely and was frowning at his breeches. 

“I don’t have anything clean to wear,” he grumbled. Arya quirked an eyebrow at him - she had never known him to be fussy about the state of his clothes, particularly because most of their time together had been spent on the road or in captivity. 

“Would you like me to fetch you one of my dresses?” 

“You have dresses?” 

“Of course I have dresses, stupid.” 

“You never wear them.” 

“Well how exactly am I supposed to fight in a dress?” she queried, rummaging through her clothes. He didn’t know why she was bothering, she was less than half his size and nothing she pulled out of her stores would fit any more than one of his legs. 

“ _ Elegantly _ and  _ carefully _ ,” he mocked, repressing a grin. Arya shot him a look of utter disdain, giving up on her task and padding to the door. 

“Stay,” she ordered, before disappearing out of the room. Gendry stood stunned in place, covered only by the material around his waist and wondering if ladies regularly walked around the castle in their smallclothes. He guessed not, as Arya was definitely not your typical lady, and he tried to imagine someone like Samwell Tarly running into her in such a state. Before he could laugh at his own imaginary scenario, the door swung open and something soft was being pelted at his face. “If these don’t fit I don’t care, I’m getting into bed now,” she told him, brushing past him and climbing under her furs. Gendry saw that she had found him an entire outfit, realising that it must have once belonged to a Stark - she hadn’t been gone long which meant she had to have found these in the family quarters. He guessed that they would have been Robb’s and under other circumstances he would hesitate to wear his lover’s dead brother’s clothes but a chill was starting to seep into his bones so he quickly dressed and then began gathering furs from the unused side of Arya’s expansive bed. “What in seven hells are you doing, Gendry?” the small woman growled, glaring at him with her single open eye. 

“I’m setting up a bed for myself, milady, if you don’t mind.”

“You already have a bed.”

“You wanted me to stay here so I can wake you,” he reminded her. He would go back to his own bed at the forge if she wanted, but he wanted to be sure she hadn’t been addled by her head injury. 

“What are you talking about?” 

“What are  _ you _ talking about?”

“Get in, you stupid bull!” 

He coughed as his protest was smacked away by a pillow. Arya challenged him with a look, pointedly patting the space beside her. How could he have thought for a single moment that she would have him anywhere else? Heart swelling, he climbed into the softest bed he had ever felt and let out a surprised grunt when Arya landed a little too forcefully on his chest. Her chin was sharp on his ribcage but he couldn’t possibly say a word about it because she was beaming so brightly at him he had no choice but to push her damp hair behind her ears and cradle her beautiful face. 

“You’re going to get me killed, you know,” he said, only half-joking. 

“Ha. They’d have to go through me. I need a new weapon, by the way,” she yawned, settling into him. The way they fit together was flawless, like she had been made just for his arms and he for hers. 

“What happened to the one I made you?” he asked, drawing patterns on her arm. He smirked at the way it made her hairs stand on end. 

“Broke it.” 

He laughed then, ignoring her grumble as her head bounced on his shaking chest. “I think I’ll be making something sturdier this time.” 

“Please do. Your workmanship was awful,” she quipped, earning her a sharp pinch to the hip. 

Seconds, minutes, hours passed then in the most satisfying silence of his life. If anyone had told Gendry years ago that one day he would be in a castle in Winterfell with a lady from a great noble house sleeping contentedly on his chest after having defeated the army of the dead, he would have thought them completely mad. Or maybe he might have punched them square in the jaw for mocking him so terribly. Yet here he was in Winterfell with Arya Stark herself, daughter to the man who once served as his own father’s hand, and she had just slayed death itself. In this light, she looked as small as she had been when she used to press herself into his side every night as little more than a child. Things had changed so much since then but beneath all of the hardness and coldness she’d learned to wear so well, she was still his Arry. He had seen all of her - her fire, her fury, her fear, her grief, her heartbreak but also her strength, her resilience, her fight, her bravery and yes, her kindness, love and femininity as well. He kissed her temple and began reciting her list over and over in his head, desperately trying to stay awake despite the warmth and comfort that kept threatening to pull him into slumber. 

He woke her a few times before the dawn, each disruption eliciting grumbles and furrowed brows from Arya. Her protests made him laugh softly, making her whine even more before quickly succumbing to sleep once again. It was after the fourth wake up that he decided it was safe enough for him to rest and he smoothed his hands over her back before everything finally drifted away. 

A brusque knock at the door was all it took to rouse Gendry and Arya. Stretching her limbs with her face contorted in discomfort, Arya swore under her breath when another knock sounded. 

“Yes?” she croaked, the singular word feeling like razors on her throat. She reached over Gendry’s waking form for a cup but he took her by the wrist, causing her to wince.

“Let me,” he offered as the sound of purposeful footsteps grew closer, pressing an apologetic kiss to her wrist. Fighting her instinct to protest, she smiled softly as he poured water into the cup and handed it to her as Maester Wolkan came into view. 

“My lady, I’ve been sent to- oh!” The maester stopped in his tracks, caught unawares. “My apologies,” he flushed, averting his gaze uncomfortably. Arya drank deeply before responding. 

“Good morning Maester Wolkan,” she greeted. “Did Jon send you?” 

“Yes, my lady,” he responded, shifting and still staring determinedly at the stone floor. 

“We’re decent. You don’t have to look away.” The Maester timidly lifted his gaze. 

“I can return later,” he suggested as Gendry lowered his feet to the floor, Arya scooted to the opposite side of the bed and doing the same. 

“No need,” she assured him as she pulled on a house coat. “This is Gendry Waters.” Maester Wolkan hadn’t realised that he was staring at the young blacksmith who was feeding the fire. 

“Good morning, Ser Gendry.” 

“M’not a Ser,” he grunted distractedly. Taken aback by his gruffness, the maester cut his eyes to Arya, who stifled a laugh behind her hand. 

“Gendry is a blacksmith,” she explained. 

“And are you the young man who went north with Jon Snow?” he asked, curious about the man he’d found sharing a bed with Ned Stark’s youngest daughter. 

“I am.” 

Maester Wolkan nodded approvingly, and began checking over Arya’s injuries. Once satisfied, he turned to Gendry. 

“Well,” he started with a stern expression, “I won’t mention that you were here but you best be going, lad. Lady Stark and Jon Snow will be wanting to see their sister and I’m not sure either of them will take kindly to your presence in her chambers.” 

Gendry rose to his full height, and Arya recognised the defiant look in his eyes. Before he could tell the maester to fuck right off, she told him that they already knew he was with her. Eyebrows shot straight up, Maester Wolkan opened and shut his mouth several times before sweeping out of the room without a word. 

“Were you really going to pick a fight with the maester?” she asked, padding over and wrapping her arms around his middle. Gendry sighed, leaning into her embrace and closing his eyes as she tucked her head under his chin. 

“I wasn’t going to fight him.” Arya snorted. “I wasn’t!” 

“That isn’t what I asked, stupid.” 

“How are you feeling?” he asked, hoping against hope that she would allow the change of subject. 

“Like I fought a bunch of dead people.” It was his turn to snort now. “What?” 

“Always so blunt,” he mused, his fingers playing in her hair. “Are you tired? You didn’t like being woken.” 

“Who  _ likes _ being woken?” 

“I wouldn’t mind being woken by you.” 

“That’s because you’re stupid.” 

Grinning at how easily she had slipped back into being the Arya he had always remembered and constantly thought about for years, he tugged at a few strands of hair in mock-admonishment. He felt her shoulders shake with a quiet chuckle and couldn’t help burying his face into her now sweet-smelling hair. After a few moments, he heard her stomach growl and when his did the same just seconds later they dissolved into laughter. If he didn’t know better, he could have sworn that this was one of the many dreams he’d had over the years. Dreams where he’d not made the choice to leave her behind, dreams where he’d not been sold to be murdered and her family hadn’t been slaughtered. Dreams where they made it safely to Winterfell and continued their close friendship without interference from any stuffy highborns. At the time, he would wake and hate himself for thinking there had ever been a sliver of hope of those things coming to fruition, but in this moment it was almost as they had and he could hardly believe his sheer dumb luck. 

“We should find something to eat,” Arya stated, breaking him from his reverie. He nodded his agreement and reluctantly broke away from her so she could get ready. While she dressed, he wandered around the room, taking everything in more closely than he’d had the chance to the night before. The carved wolf on her vanity caught his eye and he picked it up, allowing himself to imagine Arya playing with it as a baby with impossibly big eyes. 

“Davos gave me that,” she told him, tying her boots. Gendry frowned, knowing there was no way he’d known her that long ago. “Jon had been harping on about his ‘baby sister’ and Davos thought I was far younger than eight and ten. Decided I might like a present.” 

“And do you like your little wolf?” he teased, earning himself a kick to the shin. 

“I  _ do _ like my little wolf, thank you,” he snapped, snatching it away and fondly placing it back where it was. “It was very sweet of him to do that. Come on, let’s eat.” 

They opened the door to find Jon with his hand raised ready to knock and Sansa beside him holding onto Bran’s chair. 

“What are you doing out of bed?” Jon demanded, his eyes filled with concern. 

“We’re hungry,” she shrugged, making to move past them with her hand firmly gripping Gendry’s. 

“When did you get here?” Sansa queried. Her critical gaze swept over Gendry, suggesting she already knew the answer but wanted it acknowledged aloud. 

“He’s not left her side,” Bran answered, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His eyes moved over them and though it was clear to Arya that he knew everything, she also knew he wouldn’t care. He hardly cared about anything anymore, after all. “And he won’t,” he added. 

Breaking the rather awkward silence that followed, Jon announced that they had come with the intention of breaking their fast together in Arya’s chambers. Pleased with the knowledge that food was on the way, Arya stepped aside and ushered them in with a flourish of her hand. Rising up on her toes, she placed a chaste kiss on Gendry’s clenched jaw and tugged him over to join her siblings for a family meal. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on Tumblr @songbirdeverdeen
> 
> Thank you all for your continued support and for all the reviews and kudos - I am SO blown away!


	4. Help Me Through It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gendry has breakfast with the Stark siblings, and a heart-to-heart with Davos.

There was nothing quite like the satisfied sounds of a family eating contentedly. No words needed, just happy glances and the occasional scrape of a plate along with appreciative hums.  _ This _ was what Arya had missed the most about home. The state of just  _ being _ with her family during the mundane of activities and tasks. It didn’t really matter if it was Winterfell or not - home was a feeling, not a location - and her home was with Gendry, Jon, Sansa and Bran. 

The meal was not an elaborate affair - they simply had some cheese, bread and whatever meat they could find. There was ale, water and a type of tea that Arya didn’t recognise nor did she enjoy the smell of, but Sansa poured her a cup and insisted that she drink the entire thing.    
  
“Seven hells, Sansa, this is disgusting!” she exclaimed, Gendry beside her trying his hardest not to laugh. 

“Just drink it and stop complaining.”

“What is it?” 

“Drink it, Arya.” 

She wasn’t ordinarily one to do as commanded, but Arya knew a lost battle when she saw on so she quickly downed the bitter liquid and followed up with a large gulp of Gendry’s ale. Satisfied, Sansa leaned back in her chair and daintily popped a piece of cheese into her mouth. 

“How bad is it out there?” Gendry asked. Jon heaved a sigh and ran his hand over his face. He answered that it wasn’t as bad as it could have been, but it was going to take every able body they had to get things in order. He added that the Queen was eager to move on Kings Landing, prompting a snort from Sansa and an incredulous squeak from Arya who had a mouth full of bread. 

“Our people need to rest and mourn their losses, Jon,” Sansa stated, Arya pointing at her and nodding in agreement. 

“I know. We will give them as much time as we can. We will hold a ceremony and burn the bodies, and we also need to organise an execution.” 

“What? Who are we executing?” Arya spluttered, mouth still full though this time it was with meat and cheese. 

“Melisandre.” 

“Who?” 

“The Red Woman,” confirmed Gendry, his complexion a little paler than before. He finished his ale and immediately poured another mug. 

“Good,” Arya bit, taking her lover’s hand and rubbing comforting circles on his skin. Anyone who didn’t know him might’ve thought Gendry hadn’t noticed the gesture, but Arya could see that he wasn’t as tense and his shoulders weren’t quite as squared as before she’d touched him. 

“You do know she brought Jon back,” Sansa informed her. Arya swallowed, guiltily looking up at her brother. She couldn’t read his expression exactly, but she knew he wasn’t mad. “She’s the reason he’s alive.”

“That doesn’t mean she’s not a monster. Doesn’t mean she shouldn’t be executed for all the disgusting things she’s done,” Arya argued, her eyes flashing darkly. “She’s burned how many people alive? I heard she burned Stannis’ young daughter! She used a shadow demon to murder Renly Baratheon and leeched an innocent man in order to bring death upon anyone else who claimed to be King - including Robb!” Arya took a breath, unable to help the way her voice had risen to passionate shouting. She had deliberately not mentioned Gendry’s name but the way Jon had apologetically smiled over at him when she mentioned the leeches told her that he, at the very least, knew what she’d done to him. If Sansa knew, she gave no indication. “I’m glad Jon is here, I really am. I would never change that, but that witch can burn in all seven hells. She deserves to die for everything she’s done and I’d be glad to do it myself.” 

A hush fell over the room and Arya became suddenly very aware of the stares burning into her. Social though she was, being the centre of attention had never really been her thing and certainly not since having to learn to blend in - to be No One. Biting her lip, she picked at a hunk of cheese on her plate until realising that she had said nothing wrong and Gods be damned if she wasn’t going to stick to it. 

Just as quickly as she’d shrunk into herself, she rolled her shoulders back and fixed each of them with a challenging look. 

“Right,” Jon said, clearing his throat. “As I said, we are just figuring out our numbers and making arrangements for Melisandre’s execution, which Ser Davos will perform, and the burning of the dead. The Queen has given the order to prepare a feast in celebration of our victory, and in honour of our hero.” He gestured to Arya, who rolled her eyes. “Then we will need to inventory our resources. We’ll need more weapons,” he said, addressing Gendry directly. Gendry nodded, assuring Jon that he’d head straight down to the forges to assess the damage and get it all running again. 

“I still don’t think-“ Sansa began, stopping with a huff when Jon held his hand up to silence her.

“She is our Queen,” he reiterated, unable to keep the frustration out of his voice. “I will do all I can to change her mind about moving so quickly, but we have to respect her decisions.”

“When does she want us to go?” Arya asked, wrinkling her nose up as Gendry brought a cup of the foul-tasting tea to his lips. 

Quick as a flash, Sansa reached over and plucked the cup from his hand. Arya squawked indignantly, asking her sister what in seven hells was wrong with her as she made to pour him a replacement. 

“That’s Moon Tea,” Sansa announced, her hand over the rim of the new cup and a blush starting to blossom on her cheeks. 

“Oh,” Arya responded lamely, placing the cup back on the table. Gendry’s open mouth went dry, and Jon wordlessly handed him a mug of ale. They both drank deeply, each man wishing himself into a hole in the ground at that moment. “And why would I need it?” she queried. Sansa saw straight through her sister’s picture of doe-eyed innocence. 

“You know why, and Maester Wolkin already knows to keep you in steady supply.” 

“I’m not discussing this,” stated Jon, who was turning scarlet from the neck up. “I want to know absolutely nothing about it.” 

“Fine by me,” muttered Arya, who was more than happy to steer as far a course away from the subject as possible. 

“Drink it daily,” Sansa instructed her, causing a groan to escape their brother’s throat before he begged her to stop talking. “Okay it’s over,” she assured him, tutting in annoyance. 

“When does the Queen want us to move on King’s Landing?” Gendry asked, bringing the conversation back to where it should have stayed all along. He was afraid Jon would hit him, or ignore him completely, so when it was just a matter of avoiding his eye a little he was grateful - frankly, he couldn’t quite look Jon in the eye either. 

“She wants to wait no longer than a moon,” he replied, worry creasing his forehead. Gendry didn’t envy his position - he could hardly imagine walking a very fine and very dangerous line between doing what was best for his people or obeying his Queen. In that moment, he was thankful that he had never been acknowledged by his father and even more thankful that he hadn’t been brought up around the politics of court. Gendry has always despised highborns - they had never shown him any sort of kindness until Lord Stark walked into Tobho Mott’s shop all those years ago - but he had never envied them, and it was clearer than ever that he never would. Highborns had a certain amount of freedom and privilege, but in other ways they were just as trapped as lowborns - especially the women. He reached out and took Arya’s hand without thinking, and as her fingers tightened around his he thought of all the stories she’d told him when she had been made to feel like she had no choices, no freedom. Her entire life would have been mapped out for her from the moment she drew breath and had things been different she would have been married off, somewhere far from her home. She would have been regarded as nothing but a vessel for some Lord or Knight’s children, made to stand still and silent. It wasn’t her, it would never be her. No matter all the tragedy that had befallen them, the fact that she could be sitting in Winterfell with a sword at her side and a voice to be heard was a sign that change for the better might be on the horizon. 

“She is unwell,” Bran commented, looking towards the door. 

“Who?” 

“The Queen. You should see her,” he replied, turning to Jon. 

“Is she in danger? What’s happened?” Jon asked, getting to his feet and wiping his mouth. 

“She is grieving. She’s alone. She needs help and support.” 

At that moment, there was a quick knock at the door and it opened to reveal Brienne, Podrick and Ser Davos. Jon brushed past them with a mumbled good morning to each of them. Davos’ eyes followed him as Brienne and Podrick made their way over to Sansa and Bran respectively. Pod wheeled Bran away, explaining that Sam required his help with something, as Brienne ran Sansa and Arya through the plans for that day. Neither of them acknowledged Gendry, who still had his hand in Arya’s, as he listened intently to what was required of the Stark sisters. When Davos entered, his eyes immediately fell on the blacksmith. 

“Lad! Didn’t expect to find you here!” he exclaimed, brow furrowing before quickly widening at the sight of Arya’s thumb brushing over his. “Did I miss something?” 

“Ser Davos, I believe a thank you is in order.” 

“I don’t know what you would be thanking me for, My Lady,” Davos responded, eyes still lingering on joined hands. He flicked his gaze up to meet Gendry’s, a silent question there.  _ Are you sure you are being wise, lad? _

“For saving Gendry. From the witch.” 

“It was the right thing to do.” 

“Yes. And not everyone would have done it. So thank you.” 

“Don’t thank him too much, I had to row for ages. Felt like years,” Gendry muttered. 

“Don’t be ungrateful,” she scolded.

“I’m not ungrateful, I’m just saying-”

“You’re whinging. Shut up.” 

“You sound like The Hound.” 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” 

“Pardon the interruption, My Lady, but how exactly do you know each other?” Davos asked, stunned by their easy familiarity. 

“We travelled together for a long time, from Kings Landing. I was there when he was sold to the Red Woman. I had wanted him to come to Winterfell with me, to serve my brother Robb and work in our forges.” 

By now, both Brienne and Sansa were listening in. Brienne fixed Gendry with a calculated stare - no doubt trying to figure out if he was trustworthy. She narrowed her eyes, either not liking what she was seeing or trying to figure something out. 

“Speaking of the forges, I’m going to have to leave,” Gendry announced, standing and turning to Sansa. “Thank you for sharing this meal with me, Lady Stark.” Sansa gave him a smile and a nod, telling him it was her pleasure and inviting him to dinner that night. He turned to Arya, who simply cocked an eyebrow at him before extending the invitation to Davos as well. Gendry smiled then, knowing it was for his benefit. He gave a quick, awkward bow before making to leave, but Arya hadn’t yet let go of his hand. He was tugged back towards her as she stood to place a kiss on his cheek. 

“I’ll see you later,” she promised, the look in her eyes making his heart race. 

“Yeah. Later,” he said, dumbstruck. Davos cleared his throat, breaking his attention away from the love of his life, and escorted him out. 

Gendry had only counted fifteen steps before Davos spoke, confirming his theory that it would take less than twenty before he was met with the inevitable awkward conversation. Davos was not someone that he wanted to disappoint - a strange and unfamiliar feeling to Gendry, who had never really cared about anyone’s opinion before. He still didn’t, for the most part, but when it came to Davos and Arya things were different and the fact that he would even place them on a similar level spoke worlds to Gendry. Having Davos around was like finally having a father - someone to look up to, someone to trust to keep your best interests at heart and someone you wanted to make proud. 

“Now I know I’ve said this before,” Davos began, his voice level as always. “But I’m going to say it again -  _ don’t be a fool, lad _ .” 

Gendry blew a soft laugh out of his nose, eyes crinkling with mirth. 

“Just how fucked am I?” he asked as they rounded another corner and weaved through people busying themselves around the castle. 

“I don’t know, how fucked  _ are _ you?” Davos countered, a stern but knowing look on his face. 

“I’m in love with her.” 

“Lad -” 

“I  _ know _ its insane. I  _ know _ . But by some bloody miracle she loves me too, Davos. She does. And aren’t we fighting to change all of the bullshit that keeps people like me from being with people like her? Don’t we all want things to be different? Can’t we be the first to change it?” Gendry rambled, gesturing wildly as frustration built up in him. Davos placed a hand on his arm, stilling him to look up into his eyes. Gendry saw sympathy, affection and even a little bit of amusement there - truly a look a father would give a fool of a son. 

“You just need to be careful, Gendry,” he warned. “I’m not one to step between two people in love, but the world they live in and the world we’re from…” he trailed off, shaking his head and heaving a sigh. “It’s different, lad. And it’s dangerous. Particularly for you. I can’t tell you how glad I am you made it through that battle. Truly. This is something else entirely.” 

“Help me through it,” Gendry pleaded. Davos smiled sadly, starting to walk again. He stayed quiet for a moment, looking at the ground with his hands folded in front of him. Gendry kicked at a few stray rocks - or were they bones - waiting for his dear friend to speak up. 

“She was magnificent last night, with what you gave her,” Davos mused. Gendry choked on the air in his lungs. 

“ _ What? _ ” 

“Up on the ramparts. She tore through a whole mass of them like it was childs play. Never seen anything like it, ‘specially not from a woman and not from one that small.” 

“OH!” Gendry cried, mentally slapping himself for thinking Davos would so freely speak about their intimacy if he knew about it. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to see her fight. Last time I saw her with a weapon she was confident, but not half as good as she thought she was,” he went on, smiling at his feet. It wasn’t entirely true, though. He had seen her flinging daggers with ease, and testing out her staff before the battle. He flushed, thinking about what had happened next. Davos stood in front of him then, reaching up and placing his hands on Gendry’s broad shoulders. 

“I’ll help you through it, lad. But there is a very complicated history that you’re probably not aware of. If the wrong people find out about your father…” 

“What history?” 

“I’ll tell you later, son.” The word slipped so naturally from Davos’ mouth. Son. How Gendry wished it were true. “Get to work,” he said, patting him on the back before marching away from the forges. 

A number of hours later, Gendry had the feeling of being watched as he heaved a load of stone onto a waiting wagon. He swiveled his head around, searching for a pair of grey eyes. When he found Arya, she was strolling in his direction looking much the same as she always did lately. Sword and dagger at her side and her hair pulled back, if it weren’t for the bruising on her face and the gash above her eye you’d never have known she had been in a fierce battle.

“I’ve been told that we need to be discreet,” she told him, not bothering to greet him but rather perching herself on a nearby bench. Gendry was taken back to when she would spend most of her days exactly in that position, annoying him with endless chatter while he worked.

“I assumed you would be told that.” 

Arya picked at a thread on her cloak, letting it fall to the ground once she’d ripped it off. He moved around her, continuing to load stones onto the wagon until it was full and ready to be carted off. He took a cup of water from her then, smiling his thanks and placing it beside her before moving on to his next task. Before he could get far, however, he felt his fingers being tugged lightly. Looking back, he took a step towards Arya with a questioning look. 

“I don’t want to be discreet.” 

The tone of her voice was somewhat dangerous. It caused a rush of heat through him that was unrelated to the fires burning around them. 

“Arya, don’t,” he pleaded, eyes begging her not to continue. She looked up at him and tried to tug him closer again but he resisted, staying firmly where he was. “Arya,” he repeated. “Just for now, we should keep things quiet.” 

“This isn’t like you,” she argued. “Why do you care?” 

“Because I care about  _ you _ .” 

“And why should you hide that?” 

“Because I don’t want you to have to put up with all of the shit they’ll throw at us.” 

“I’m a grown woman, I can take care of myself,” she seethed, eyes flashing. 

“I know you can, Arry.” 

Something about the use of that name caused her to soften, and she hopped down from her place. 

“Fine I’m going then,” she said, letting go of his fingers and purposefully knocking her shoulder against his arm as she made to leave. “And I am absolutely not going to be around the corner, to the right and in the first door on your left,” she added over her shoulder. With a chuckle, Gendry watched her turn to the right and waited a moment before following. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking around while real life took over! I love that this one-shot idea had turned into a multi-chap and its gotten so many more ideas flowing that you may very well see more works from me soon! 
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr: @songbirdeverdeen

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr @songbirdeverdeen 
> 
> Reviews are life!


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